


kingdom by the sea

by harbingers



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Future Fic, Growing Up, Hometowns, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28974651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harbingers/pseuds/harbingers
Summary: Chenle’s heart is a compass, always pointing to home and Shanghai brings him closer to Jisung.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	kingdom by the sea

**Author's Note:**

> i suggest listening to [from home](https://open.spotify.com/track/2ZRQaiH6HHEvuFqkY41BcO?si=bNrfqtAtQNSggeA9Z1qkhQ) while listening :)

“Some nights you are the lighthouse / some nights the sea / what this means is that I don't know / desire other than the need / to be shattered & rebuilt”

— Ocean Vuong, _Night Sky with Exit Wounds_

It’s been two years since he’s visited Shanghai. Chenle is nineteen, hair dyed back to russet brown, teetering over the edge of chestnut brown from their recent comeback. He’s only 5’10 and feels remotely bitter. Chenle is nothing more than a gangly-recently teenager, roots become his bones, and the leaves coat like new skin during Korea's autumn season. He has yet to grow, and yet somehow in the midst of their schedules, the busy hours sleeping in the recording studio, waking up, sleeping, and repeating the same cycle he feels a stunt in his growth. 

Chenle is nineteen, somewhat insane according to Renjun for the cynical ideas his brain musters together. 

There’s Park Jisung, sitting comfortably on the duvet of his childhood bedroom where he spent most of his summertimes. Seeing Jisung, rustle up and down excitedly, fingers curling into the duvet there’s something that twinges inside of Chenle, maybe deluded excitement? 

Jisung has also recently turned nineteen, and Chenle recalls the candid pictures resting in the photo insert of his wallet gifted to him by Mark. The streak of strawberry sponge cake wiped along the clean cut of his adult-like jaw, hands sticky with icing, and arms interlocked as Chenle could’ve tasted the sweet cream against his tongue as the photo was taken. Jisung’s smile gathering in the flash of the polaroid, tucked away and cowling underneath the stars. 

But now, he offers a glimpse of Jisung, whose back hits the mattress while awing over the sets of photo albums kept away for reasons such as this. Chenle constricts the guided light of his lungs, as Shanghai greets them in a friendly manner. And he can only wish for the best to follow. 

  
  
  
  


Jisung looks like sea foam, melting away and floating in the gentle winds of Jinshan City where he crouches on the porch, knees buckling together as he falls back against the wood. Chenle can’t help but feel the pinch of jealousy whenever he sees Jisung, breathtakingly free, boyish in the way his soft, blonde highlights burn in the melting oscillation of the sun, swaying back and forth. A few strands tumble around his eyes, closed and resting as Chenle slides the porch door with solid — clang! — before his shadow floats away to the sand only footsteps away from the steps.

“Jisung, don’t fall asleep on the porch.” Chenle chides, as Jisung blinks one eye open, and the sunset is the shore, basking on the rivage of his delicate irises. 

He hums, “just enjoying the sun.” Jisung holds the fountain of youth inside, nectar chiseling the groove of his shoulder as he shifts. Chenle suddenly feels uneasy. 

The uneasiness will draw away from the fire soon enough, and the burning sensation that Chenle gathers. Starved tendencies racing through his skin as Jisung splays a hand on the vernada’s landing, “is Shanghai always like this?” He asks. 

Chenle sits on the swing, rocketing to the beat of the sun, creaking every time he lifts his legs up to chase the saccharine air. “Always like what?” 

“Pleasant. Quiet.”

Jisung’s hair flares in curls, flattened on the wooden surface as he stares above, blinking innocently, and the dimples wedged in his cheek set ablaze in a gentle somber. Chenle knocks his head back, sniffling in a dry laugh. “You get used to it, the silence.” 

“Did you?”

He looks radiant, genuine as he looks up with utter curiosity, maybe the sun reincarnated that’s cursed Chenle, when he stares too long — blindness is a sin to the heart and Jisung keeps his gaze. 

“No.” _Not yet,_ Chenle places his words carefully, and Jisung rolls over, back facing away from him as the first afternoon in Jinshan rinses away, molding a third hand to be lended in the halted curve of Jisung’s back as he lies on the porch. 

Chenle turns into the ruin of sea form, head underwater and boxed in a cage. The nightmare will collapse into an awakening, and together they watch the first sunset together. 

It’s almost grotesquely bittersweet, and cruel, Chenle thinks. The way the world fails to ever work in his favor. 

  
  
  
  
  


There’s a frame on the beside of his table, when he returns inside. Jisung’s suitcase propped open in the middle of the bed, carelessly dropped off, and Chenle gently pushes it away and sits on the edge of the mattress. It jerks, rocketing under the weight of his body, the same — groan — same creak under the hardwood floors where he used to spend hours sprawled leisurely counting the fireflies caught inside his glass jar, belly full of Sichuan Pork and Ma Po Tofu. Fireflies would float in his hands, like a beacon of light. 

Chenle’s thumb brushes along the glass, the photo was taken from years ago — years of heartache and the stage being polished limelight; only gloating and glistening when the other members couldn’t breathe, last final note giving out and backs heavy. He was maybe fifteen or sixteen in the photo, sweat building across his forehead as Jisung had his arm him, he heard the heavy intakes of air as he smiled. Heads bumping one another, carrying each other silently when the photo was taken. 

There are fireflies in his chest, as he gazes longer and longer, sparkling like fireworks that become collateral damage towards Chenle’s unmasked pride. He sets the photo down, after minutes of wallowing in the mud that sticks to the tips of his fingers. There’s a subtle, foreign semblance that forms along the cortex of his palm, as Chenle’s head hits the pillow. Nothing felt more bitter than the taste of ink and plastic film rusting at the roof of his mouth every time he dared to speak. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Where would you like to go?” 

Jisung fixes his yellow bucket hat, shielding the top of his forehead, while he wears a corny lanyard that reads ‘ _I LOVE SHANGHAI’_ in white lettering against the black material. He had bought it at the airport during their three hour interval between flights and Jisung dragging him around the shops browse for gag gifts to give as souvenirs. He sticks his hands into the pocket of his cargo shorts, sticking his tongue out. There’s a pamphlet Jisung had also picket out at the airport tucked under his arm as Chenle finds himself amused; and finally lifts the brim of his bucket hat, the morning sun glowing at his cheek like natural highlighter drawing out his cheekbones before glory’s early rising.

“Take me anywhere,” 

_Anywhere you go, I will follow._

  
  
  
  
  


They take the bus from Jinshan to Shanghai. He lets Jisung sit on the inside, face pressed to the window as he awes at the greenery, the way the countryside sunbathes into the sun and he pulls down the window, letting fresh air whip past his hair and sticks his head out. Chenle eyes the strangers ahead of them, worried that the driver would snap at them for causing disturbances but instead, Jisung freely laughs. 

It's a short walk from the entrance that their bus stops at to the ticket gates of Yu Garden, Jisung sticks closer to him as the crowd thickens and he tugs on the loop of his jacket to gather his attention. “Have you been here before?”

“Eomma recommended it, she took me and my older brother here when we were littler.” And Chenle wrinkles his nose, as he takes a step forward into the line. “I don’t really remember much though.”

Jisung snorts, scuffing his feet to the ground while he waits next to him. “Of course you don’t, but your mother recommended this place? I should thank her the next time I see her.” He beams, in unspitful competition to the earth’s warmth. 

“You can thank her tomorrow. She’s already invited us for tea.” 

He nods delighted. His mother had always taken a liking to Jisung, even though Donghyuck insisted he is the favorite friend, especially to Chenle’s mother. But he knows how doting she was to him, during rookie days, looking out for her son, befriending Chenle in the first place. 

Chenle pays for their tickets, while Jisung promises to cover the rest of their trips costs. He shakes his head, almost buckling to sniffle an easy laugh. They begin to walk along the cobbled-stone path, leading them through a huddle of pink peonies, scattered like red roses on a bridal day and leading Persephone to the pomegranates that crowd in bushes eerily. Jisung’s feet hover near the flowers, as he bends over to pet them, drawing them between his fingers gently and pulling out his phone to snap a photo. 

“Pretty.” He murmurs. Pomegranate red, salmon and rouge pink drive a subtle line along his face as the sunshine blinks twice above them, and trees greet them as they continue their way into the pathway above the waters. 

The waters that run understand the bridge, are murky, translucent green that merge with blue, rippling like an earthquake. Chenle leans against railing, looking below and it’s like a tsunami ramming into the underbelly of his stomach — washing away his thoughts. The whole garden is like a cataclysm, a cracked glance into the crown that is prismatic, onto the grey stones that rest above the river, bouncing away from the temple ahead of them. 

Jisung’s eyes widen, submerged in the view and Chenle is a mere polaroid, attuned to the small button on the nape of his neck as he takes a photo, stapled to a pinboard stuck forever in his mind. “We should’ve come here sooner.” He says. 

Chenle scuffs, looking beyond the pools of water, trees swaying their hands, branches a mirror to the sun, and Shanghai’s heat bunches under his graphic t-shirt, pressing against his back. “The last time we were here, we stayed in Shanghai for less then a day when we came to hyung’s engagement party.” And he pauses, because the sun confines into molten orbs — except one touch, and it leaves an array of glitter — like Jisung’s skin is a home made of golden glitter and his eyes are honest. “Why? Are you having fun?” He asks, amused by Jisung’s sincerity. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Liar.” 

“Watch your step, before you run into people.” Jisung pulls him by the arm, their shoulders bumping and he can smell the peach lip balm he always wears; a recommendation from Renjun. 

In the dying moment of Yu Garden, as they reach the temple, the crowd bustling like wild insects as Jisung stands there three feet ahead of him but it feels like a journey’s worth of distance. He is a silver — golden silhouette that outlines the Lotus’s surrounding him like a casket. Chenle holds his breath, as in the fraction of the moment, the world stops. And when the world stops, Jisung continues and Magnolias blooms on his shoulders. 

  
  
  
  


“Mama,” Chenle greets when the door swings open to the estate, the street was busier than normal and the walk from bus stop to the doorstep left them both chilly with the sudden temperature drop in the late evening. He could tell Jisung was tired, sore from the hours of walking around Yu Garden, yet he covers it well with a well-presented smile as his mother clasps Jisung’s hand first. 

“Jisung, oh my goodness! How many years has it been?” he rushes to pinch his cheeks, and he doesn’t squirm, enjoying the sudden attention. “And you’ve grown so tall, even taller then Chenle-ya.” She teases, finally reaching over to pat Chenle’s head as he rolls his eyes a bit, going in for a hug. 

Patting her back, he answers, “It’s only been six months, Mama, since gege’s engagement party.” 

The hug is warm, and he has to duck a bit to meet her halfway when their arms wrap around like a present, and it is almost better than receiving one. He sees Jisung out of eye’s distance, lingering with a gentle smile — and his heart bustles like a power surge, one ley line connecting to the seams of his body like one motherboard. “I know, I know but it doesn’t help when you only call me twice a week. Have you been eating well?” She parades with questions, and Chenle scratches his head, unsure how to answer. It’s been a few months since she’s moved back into the family estate to live closer to his grandparents. 

Jisung steps in, holding her hands gently to break up the tension Chenle had brought. “Eomeoni, our schedules have been quite busy these past few weeks. Chenle wanted to call you everyday.” and he bumps his shoulder, “right?” 

“Yes.” Chenle mumbles in defeat, as his mother widens the door and pinches his cheek once more. 

“Come inside! I’ll brew some green tea.” She ushers them inside as Chenle bats an eye towards Jisung while mouthing, _I told you so._

Chenle leads Jisung into the drawing room, sitting in the loveseat as the sunset begins to tie the curtains to a close and Jisung yawns. He rubs circles into the inside of his palm, keeping him awake — and for a second Chenle regrets his decision, pulling back fast and keeping his hands in his lap. Jisung leans against his shoulder, like a lap of warmth, stirring caves between his shoulder and the curve of his neck. Cheek pressed against his side, and Jisung’s eyelashes fabricate to the beat of Chenle’s drums and the window of the drawing room dances like eyeshadow, confined lines as his eyelids flutter. 

_Insane._ Chenle inwardly coughs, making sure not to jerk and stir Jisung awake as he hears noise in the kitchen, and minutes later his mother returns with a tray of Green Tea and Mooncakes. “Jisung,” he gently wakes him up, and he lifts his head gingerly. Fumbling an apology to his mother for falling asleep. 

“Drink up, the journey back to Jinshan will be long.” She chastises, pushing a hot mug of tea into his hands. 

“Thank you.” 

Chenle watches his head slip, and catches it tamely as he leans once more against him, hot and flush like a candle, wax melting on his skin — and yet the burn doesn’t seem to sear and the kettle whistles in his ears at the sight of Jisung. When he sleeps, he sleeps like the dead, maybe like Sleeping Beauty in the old fairy tales, only able to be woken up by a prince. 

The thought of kissing him has never crossed his mind, and he fumbles with his cup just by the mere passing thought of it. Jisung slowly drinks his tea, and his mother rolls the windows up in the room. Letting the sun eat them whole — mooncakes aureate as Chenle takes a bite and he digests the moment. His family home, Shanghai. And finally Jisung.

  
  
  
  


From Green City to Jinshan District, a wistful quietness remains present. The countryside, there’s the thousands of fields, gardens taken care of by small land owners, in the smaller area where his grandparents raised him during the summertimes when his parents couldn’t. Everyone knew everyone, it was comfortable and safe to chase fireflies along the side roads after dark, go swimming in the large creek — or strip into the sea during midnight. But Shanghai as a whole, it could be overly consuming, but compared to Seoul, where there’s the responsibilities, record sessions, early morning practices it feels like the removal of a compressor hampering his shoulders. 

He remembers the hours spent on the porch, drawing shapes into the sand while his grandmother made Jiuniang, his mother planting a new row of lilies in the greenhouse. Chenle remembers the first time he wanted to bring Jisung to Shanghai, it was during their earlier promotions, and the discussion of world tours had been brought up. Beijing was another option, and he had originally wished to bring the rest of the members to his hometown. He pictures teaching them how to swim in the creeks or catch fishes in the river, traveling around Huangpu or even eating watermelon on his own porch steps and running around freely. 

But now it’s been singled to one person, and it’s years later, during the late spring time that he’s finally met his wish and Chenle should feel content. During the breaks he was given, nowadays he typically spends it in the dorms with Jeno playing video games and ordering takeout if he decides not to return home — not his true home — but the one he forged in Seoul when his mother bought a home to be closer to her son. And now, it seems like the rope that brings them together has grown ripped the more Chenle grows older. 

Was he growing up too fast?

  
  
  
  


His grandmother helps him cut the peaches he brings from the fields, while Jisung hangs around outside, scooping his hands through the sand like a little child infatuated with the beach. From the clear window view of the porch, Chenle gets a glimpse, as his grandmother beckons for him to wash the peaches. The whole house is peaceful, cicadas clicking in the wind, in a few hours it would be nighttime and Chenle would be turning left and right in his sleep to the sound. 

“He’s not homesick yet is he?” She asks, rubbing off any excess dirt off the peaches, hands in the sink as her back faces away from Chenle. 

“Nai Nai..” he warns, fist wrapped around the peach, velvet skin rubbing against his palm. “Jisung-ah would’ve told me if he was homesick. Why? Do you think he is?” 

She shrugs, “you’ve known the boy for over five years.” 

Chenle drops the now sliced peaches onto the ceramic plate he pulls out from the kitchen cabinets. “He would tell me.” he insists, before sliding the porch door and letting himself out. And there, sunkissed and folded together is Jisung, hands dusted with sand as he calls his name. 

“Ah, finally. I was starting to wonder what was taking you so long.” 

He bumps his shoulder skittishly. “Sorry,” Chenle sets the plate down, and Jisung wipes his hands on his shorts. “Your hands are dirty.” 

“The sink is so far away.” He complains, and Chenle sighs, leaning back and popping a peach into his mouth, it’s soft, the tartness bleeding into his mouth and cuts through his teeth softly. 

Jisung stares at him, uneven hunger and something gouges into Chenle, like the extra set of the knife set on the edge of the plate; enfold of his underjaw, juices dripping down his hand when he takes another bite. He goes for a third bite, as Jisung creeps closer, and the heel of the peach slice purges onto his thumb when he holds it tighter, “open your mouth.” Chenle instructs. 

His mouth widens, as Chenle feeds him, lips now sticky with peach juice, fresh and wet against his fingers and his mouth feels hot, like the equator was kissing every part of his fingertips, the groove under his nail beds. His tongue pokes out, and the sun grazes his belly, and butterflies erupt so he withdraws quickly. Jisung chews, the plate holding barriers between them, the white, sleeveless tank top that he wears snug against his ribs, the meander of his flesh under his arm taunts Chenle as he widens his shoulders. 

“One more.” He hums, “it tastes good.” Jisung murmurs, head burrowed into his neck and Chenle could feel the wet, sultry smear of juice against his neck as he lifted his head for another bite. Chenle beckons him, and they share one more bite, flooding his mouth and he slowly groans from the taste. 

The wooden boards of the porch dig into his hips, and Jisung looks remarkably kissable. Chenle turns away, sucking the remaining juices off his thumb, and Jisung licks away the piece of fruit from the corner of his mouth. 

Chenle despises the growl in his throat, the hollow pit that blossoms into confusion, and so he leaps upright, knee hitting the edge of the plate as he dashes up to the slider, excusing himself to wash his hands. He’s not sure how Jisung looks when he runs away, but it’s not running away he insists. He lets the sink water run his hands, and watches from out the window as the wind blows and pushes to peek out Jisung's soft belly, the slim build of his shoulders. 

The skin of the peaches rot in his mouth, but never there from the start as he runs his mouth with cold water, hoping to chase away the hollowness before it consumes him. 

  
  
  


He takes him to a small art gallery near Moganshan Road. Jisung brings his sketchbook, a small habit he’s developed recently in the weeks leading to their break. On the days off, he would scribble around with a pencil, doodling away in the world he’s built, separated from the idol industry and reality. Chenle doesn’t blame him, there were too many things Jisung never got to fully experience, the days in primary school where he would splatter paint onto white canvases during art time, the field trips to popular museums. Then Chenle remembers, they were all robbed of a true childhood. And so, he only hopes to rekindle and furnish new ones, new memories in replacement of the emptiness. 

Jisung doesn’t offer to show him what he draws, and Chenle doesn’t ask. They sit together on the bench, staring at a painting, wide-mouths and cracked jaws and he’s not sure how many hours pass by. Everyday spent here feels like an iteration of time torturing every step of the way. Like Shanghai knew of his unspoken desires, and poked him out with a branding iron, until he broke down into tears and declared his sins. Guilt is a swimming pool, a single rope hanging from above of the well in his stomach as Chenle carves a four lettered word into the trench of his mouth, if you speak once more then guilt will shatter the happy illusion you’ve created. 

So break it, let yourself be broken. 

  
  
  
  


“The weather is nice.” Jisung tells him, while they’re sitting on the porch again. Most days spent here, if not waking up early to go on morning runs —or heading into town to buy groceries from the small mart Chenle had grown up in, buying red bean ice cream popsicles. 

He waves a fan around, heat sticking to his shorts, the fourth pair he’s gone through in the past week. It’s only springtime, and yet here in Jinshan it feels like a heatwave has blown through their whole town. “It’s shit, I didn’t think the heat would be this bad.” 

“You’re being overdramatic.” Jisung answers, head thumping gently into the hammock, hand loosening around the piece of charcoal he waves around like a wand. It’s enticing, watching him draw, letting the flow of his mind take over. Hair flopping over his eyes, as he draws his knees together and focuses. Charcoal smudged on his flannel shirt, rubbed against his chin and staining the pads of his fingers. 

“Hey Jisung.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You should draw me.” The charcoal drops from his fingers, rolling a few steps away from where Jisung sat. He looks up in surprise, eyebrows curtaining to a close, as he takes a dirty hand through his hair, not bothering to remember that they were thick with graphite. 

Chenle doubles back, almost regretting his words as he sits up to pick up his pencil. “You want me to draw you?” 

He shrugs, playing off the mild panic going off like an alarm in his brain. “Am I that bad looking?” he jokes. “You can say no Jisung.” His voice oddly wavers, and he clears his throat. 

“No, you have a nice facial structure. It’ll be good practice.” 

Chenle laughs, “So I’m just drawing practice now?” 

“Shut up and get over here.” And he follows his orders. Jisung asks for him to face sideways, back facing the sea. And it’s suddenly quiet. Only the scribble of charcoal against paper and the humming from Jisung’s lips that keeps Chenle alive. Salt hits his tongue, sweet like caramel, or like the fried ice cream that they ate earlier. He’s not sure how much time continues to pass, maybe minutes, or seconds the way Jisung holds his pencil, something of a boy who could love so much. Or hold so much love, dedication and passion, for dancing, for other people in his eyes that are damp with concentration as he looks and up and down every few seconds and Chenle holds his head high. 

“Finished.” He says, maybe twenty minutes flown by and the wind tickles his back and the cicadas return from their day of hiding. He flips the sketchbook around, and Chenle’s eyes trace the simple portrait: his side profile captured well in the rough texture of charcoal, jawline sharp and softened blow as he captured the gentle gaze while facing sideways. 

“You’re really good.” He compliments him, and Jisung blushes, ripping out the page and holding his sketchbook to his mouth, facing away from him. Chenle reaches over, and holds the drawing closer. 

“Thanks.” 

And so Chenle captures him once more, and the shore roars in it’s miserable low tides. “You’re welcome.” 

  
  
  


Jisung suggests they go to the beach, Chenle brings a towel, and a shovel while Jisung handles the sunscreen. Their sandals flop weakly against the coarseness of the sand, already beginning to wiggle into his toes as he walks. It’s in the late morning, when the shore isn’t as busy as it would during the afternoon so they conquer a spot and fling their towels. Chenle assists him on rubbing sunscreen along his back, freckled and coppered from the past week and a half hanging out on the porch and submerging into the sun. 

“Do you want help?” He offers, but the lingering remnants of the peach, flesh hot into his mouth sticky with turbulence like a plane flying across their house. And so he declines, and struggles to smear sunscreen on his neck, in prevention from getting sunburnt. The struggle lasts, until he covers his body and waddles to catch up Jisung who’s already near the waters, feet dipped into the sea. 

“How is it?” 

Jisung laughs, cupping wet sand and letting it drop on his thighs. “It’s surprisingly warm.” and he turns around to stand up, kicking sand as he gains his balance. 

They find a place near the rocks, close to their belongings, as Jisung cups his knees close to his chest, water dripping down his neck and water clinging to his chest, and Chenle holds his breath before he speaks. “Are you having fun?”

“Now why would you ask that?” Jisung responds, confused as he was when asking the question. 

“Dunno, just wondering. It’s not like you're imprisoned here.” 

Jisung’s finger mingled between the sands, where Chenle’s arm rested. “And I have any complaints, then you’ll be the first to know.” gentle, and heart aching his words thrash like spitfire dressed over a wound. 

“I feel relieved then.” Chenle teases, and Jisung swats his shoulder, laying his head in the crook of his neck. And there it is, confusion, daydreams that take part in illusions. How does he know what's real and what’s not? Is the boy who draws blinds in your house, sleeps in the same bed as you, builds cardboard castles when you rise everyday, another day gone by. 

“You should be, Zhong Chenle. Be grateful that I’m here with you.” And it’s a running joke, an arrow piercing his chest and he’s so grateful that he brought Jisung to Shanghai. 

The word’s “I am,” slip in the wind, unheard and unforgotten to Chenle and Jisung gets up and offers a hand. He does the next best thing and takes it. Where will you go next? What will you discover next, how much longer can you conceal the truth?

  
  
  


Chenle brings him to Zhujiajiao Water Town. It’s been some years since he last been here. Jisung follows him cluelessly as he pays for the boat rides. The weather is nicer, less humid as he puts on his sunglasses, and the sepia tint of the shades darken his perspective and Jisung appears to him like the buildings lined up, street markets and small restaurants. The water is bluer, cobalt dimming on strands of Jisung’s hair when purissian blues muddle in harmony, and the boat steeps like warm tea as they float along. 

People trek by, farmers returning from the fields with sacks of fruits to be sold at the main markets, cart vendors selling Baozi off the steaming trays. The liveliness fills his veins, and Jisung nurtures in the ambled simplicity of life, fascinated with the ongoing world around them. “Are you hungry?” 

They eat at the eat-in restaurant, with cramped seating, sharing a plate of Peking Duck and steamed pork buns. Jisung stuffs his face happily, and Chenle tips his chin to clean the green onion stuck on his face. When they finish, they walk the side streets, and there’s a light that bursts in Jisung’s face the more they discover in Zhujiajiao. “Thank you for bringing me home.” Jisung whispers. 

  
  
  


He feels like he’s standing on Shanghai’s Tower Observation Deck. Together they went a few days later, for fun when they didn’t have much to do but sit around and let the day slip past them. Glancing down, hundreds of floors that are columns gutted inside Chenle and when he dares to open his eyes — his heart stops. Except there’s Jisung next to him, staring down below with no fears. Unsure, his heart is a tower, mounting each obstacle that comes his way. Vignettes bind together, on paper Chenle writes down his feelings. But what feelings should he feel? How does he deserve to feel, and should the feelings arrive? He looks to his side, hoping Jisung could guide him for assistance, but instead Chenle free falls, as he refuses. 

Chenle free falls, breaking through the empty floors, and there’s no one to grab his hand and pull from sinking too far. And he accepts his fate, it took him long enough. 

  
  
  
  


“You’re too slow!” Jisung shouts, the wind flapping in his ears as he pushes himself further. Jisung bicycles ahead of him, lanyard slapping his back as he pedals harder. The roads are clear, Jinshan is colder than usual and while wind hits him backwards, Chenle grinds his teeth to keep on going. The countryside was atmospheric this time of the day, where the fields were glassy with rich greens and peak height. 

Chenle huffs out a loud shout, even though they were only seven feet away from each other, it felt like with every pedal Jisung was bicycling faster — one more pedal, and legs would break away at the spokes of the tires. “And you’re too fast. Slow down!” 

Jisung doesn’t. They continue to pedal down the roads, the sun bursting from it’s cage, causing his eyes to tear up and he stares down at the pavement for the rest of the way. The countryside sparkles during daytime, shadows following him as they finally reach the fields. It’s open, larger than the time he came here to pick flowers for his grandparents. He was maybe eight, snatching every pretty flower in sight until his mother berated him for pulling them out so recklessly and taught him the correct way. 

He swings a leg over the bicycle seat, laying down the bike at the end of the field, far enough from the roads. One step, and he’s emerged in a meadow of camellia, pink clouds, even lighter in the sunlight. Chenle spots Jisung halfway across, holding onto his straw hat while crouching to touch the flowers. A part of him, maybe crumbles? And is glued back together in a matter of seconds when he sees his smile, waving Chenle over. “Wow, this is beautiful.” Jisung says, not needing to yell. 

“Let’s collect some flowers, I’m sure Nai Nai would appreciate it.” He guides through the hedges, grass cutting gently like a feathered kiss against his calves. He bends down, and silently, they collect Camelias. Jisung turns, tapping his side and giggles as he tucks a flower into his hair. 

_Oh,_ he stutters. Jisung looks breathtaking in the sunlight’s natural habit, like Demeter tending to her children, flowers become the source of happiness that unshield his eyelashes, hummingbirds in the wind. Chenle clenches the stems of the flowers, afraid of letting go and laughs along. “For you.” He finds a lost flower in the middle of the meadow, finding a home tucked behind Jisung’s ear. Shell-pink tinted in his cheeks, and he looks lovely, sitting in the field with Chenle, like something that was never his from the start.

“Chenle, you’re staring.” He states the obvious. 

“Not anymore.” He answers, returning to the patch of Camellias and Jisung grins, wonderfully and bright and blinding. 

The camellias for his grandmother end up in a pitcher on the kitchen table, and Chenle uses his flower as a bookmark. He’s not as for Jisung, what he does with his flowers. It’s only two nights later, when Jisung’s sketchbook happens to be lying around while he takes a shower in the other room. That he sees the dried up flower, folding into the paper and labeled. A new catastrophe overwhelms Chenle, and he’s not sure where to turn next as he flees instead. Keep on running away, no matter how much you choose to abandon, it will always catch you. And so Chenle, learns to finally stop running. 

  
  
  


Why did he ask Jisung to come to Shanghai in the first place? And why did Jisung agree to follow him around, for the past month. That’s one mystery to be solved, and so he is not sure how to start. Chenle’s heart is a compass, always pointing to home and Shanghai brings him closer to Jisung.

  
  
  


Chenle finds him on the porch, most of their belongings are packed and ready for the early bus ride to take them to the airport tomorrow morning. Jisung is flopped, lazy and eyes closed as he doesn’t hear Chenle approach from behind. His sketchbook is crooked open, and his phone is in the midst of shutting black when he sees a selfie of Chenle taken days ago, at the field of camellia’s, throwing a foolish peace sign and the wind hurting his cheeks from smiling. “Are you all packed up?” 

“Time really flew by.” Jisung starts, chuckling as he stands up, closing his sketchbook and stretching his back. “Tomorrow, we'll be on the plane back to Seoul and in less than forty-eight hours our days will be nothing but schedules.” 

“Missing Seoul?”

He flicks his hand, in exasperation of the even mention of Seoul. “The break was nice while it lasted. I’m sure Donghyuck-hyung misses us, maybe I can convince him to buy fried chicken when he gets back to the dorms.” 

Chenle sits on the porch, and Jisung follows, proceeding to fall into his lap. Neither of them move, and Chenle chews on his words, unsure how to talk properly all the sudden. “Who knows?” and he adds, creeping a hand to run through Jisung’s scalp neatly. “As long as we’re together right?” 

It’s a promise. Perhaps a new start when they leave Jinshan’s District, the countryside, his grandmother’s house. Jisung presses a soft kiss to his hand, remaining there. And when he draws him even closer, there’s hope. And with hope, he hears the words come out of Jisung’s mouth. 

The sun gloats its final goodbyes. And Chenle has no regrets. 

“As long as we’re together.” 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

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> 
> back with another fic! i hope you enjoyed this! and if you did, then comments and kudos are truly deeply appreciated! i would love to know what ya'll think <3


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